United
by Houjuu
Summary: ALT UAO. The final days of violence between the Garde and Setrakus Ra are nearing closer. John Smith must come to terms with a great loss while Number Six works through her feelings midst war. That is, until the humans prove they have their own special punch to pack when young Bertrand from Germany finds a way to the destroyed temple grounds and resurrects the fallen Number Eight.
1. Prologue

**AN: Hey all. This is my crack at a multi chapter length fic based on an idea that I've incubated after months of ranting and criticism of the original series. While there were parts of UAO I enjoyed, there were definitely parts I felt were extra or left too far on the table to be glossed over. Tragedy and genocide porn doesn't just make for a good finale when previous books wove in a lot of small details that were supposed to enhance the plot. Plot =/= Stand Alone; to have a plot, you have to have characters enact on a plot and UAO relied heavily too much on John and Six when there were too many other elements left intact.**

 **Because of FFnet's unreliable character tag system, I can't say who else this story is about except in the description above. I chose to focus this story on Bertrand alongside of the Garde(John and Six though I plan on playing with all kinds of POV), the boy mentioned in FoT who was executed in UAO in less than a paragraph just to make John feel guilty; why have a character directly confront the Garde about his abilities at all if you were going to kill him anyway? So, I gave him more of a purpose. That among other things are why this story is happening; I am writing the UAO I would have liked to see done. ships will come as they come, I will not focus too heavily on romance though if this story strays away from the set canon pairings in prior books, I will mention it and why I made those choices. Enjoy.**

* * *

The human boy doesn't remember much before he teleported. Mostly, he remembers the feeling of being on the run. Those feelings just trigger the other memories.

He remembers the smell of blood filling his nose and mouth as their group escaped a nasty battle outside of London. The city had been in flames, smoke staining the once beautiful blue sky he remember when he was a boy and his parents took him on a holiday to the city. Big Ben was the only building he remembered looking for on the horizon; he kicked himself for only remembering one building in all of London.

He remembers Natan.

His small group, consisting of him and an English boy with a white mohawk, Nigel, alongside of him, found another boy from Poland who spoke broken English and shook with a heavy limp. He'd been injured saving a school on the Eastern side of the city and had twisted his leg funny. He ran away with them as best he could, hiding from the soldiers with them, speaking of his family on their first night together under a ruined store front in the besieged city.

The Polish boy would live three days total.

On the first, the wounded boy told them his name. Natan. About his family. About making his grandfather and father proud of him. Their little boy was a soldier at last.

On the second, Natan showed them his legacies. Telekinesis, like the two of them already had, night vision, and the power to construct force fields out of natural energy.

On the second day, beautiful Fleur from France had now joined them. She was bold and brilliant, but she chose to be reclusive about her powers. Telekinesis by deduction but otherwise, she was mystery.

To the short brunette boy, Natan had told him in a few short words how he was destined for greatness. He gestured to the place where stars would have been if the smoke and fire didn't plague the cities.

 _You will be strong some day. You will be hope. I see it._

The shorter boy didn't believe him. He blamed the language barrier for his ignorance and just nodded along with every word.

Natan had stalled the Mogadorian monsters with his legacies, hastily trying to explain what they feared were his last words. He held up a shaky invisible border, blocking the three of them and numbers of English civilians as they fled the battleground. It was halfway through that third day and they were finally at the edge of London, on track to Stonehenge and to becoming the aid for the Loric fighting in the States.

The most his language barrier could manage to tell them was that he was useless to them injured like this.

That he wanted them to live his dream and save the world like the heroes the Loric wanted them to be.

He looked the short brunette boy in the eyes and smiled.

 _Be what I see._

The Polish boy's smile was kind and his eyes danced with hope. Hope for his life perhaps, but more so hope for his world as he left it in their three pairs of hands. The soldier cut that light out after bursting through his weakening defense and impaling the boy entirely.

He remembers hearing the blonde girl in his group scream at the top of her lungs as she held the body of the fallen human boy from Poland; he died with a smile, having felt safe with leaving fate in their hands. He had wanted to save the world most of all and thought he did just that by saving them. Fleur punched the soldier who killed him and ripped his head clean off his body with the force of her fist alon. She recoiled at the pure ounce of her brute strength but she did not let it break her. He remembers the powerful screaming that came from Nigel and wincing at how the sound practically pierced his mind and shook it to the core. He remembers tossing herds of Mogadorian soldiers as far as he could with his telekinesis, his only legacy he could hone as a weapon, as they fled through Basingstoke.

They left as good of a burial as they could muster for the Polish boy. They shed no tears until they were miles south and could finally rest for one final night.

 _Do widzenia._

He remembers the sight of Stonehenge being as beautiful and frightening as anything he'd ever seen before. He remembers that the Loralite had been frigid to the touch and tried his best to remember what Niagara Falls looked like. But when his fingers first met the cold galactic jewels, he heard a voice whisper in his mind. A calling.

 _You have far more than what you believe._

It spoke in the same ominous way that Natan spoke to him under the faltered stars.

A calling to a place unlike the great waterfall in the States. A place where jungles and plain were all you could see more miles and humidity so strong it could bind the joints of your body together with sweat. The voice described an ancient Mayan temple in the middle of it all.

The voice continued it's pleading, growing fainter and more like an echo in a distant tunnel in his thoughts. It distracted his calm and broke through his picture of the state of New York and into a mystical jungle in a far off region of the world. He began to feel the sticky atmosphere on his skin, the sun against his neck. He tried to push the image out and focus on roaring water once more.

 _Help me._ The voice boomed in desperation, like the words were to be its last.

He couldn't.

 _Find me._ The voice began to die out entirely.

He didn't know how.

 _Save me._ Barely a whisper.

He wanted to. With a final muster of courage, he let go of the image of Niagara Falls.

The dirt was the only thing cold when he landed.

He awoke on the ground of a jungle paradise in the middle of damp air and screeching animal calls. The animals, ranging from wild cats to birds and hogs, screamed in fear, fleeing violently from the area. The boy pulled himself to his feet immediately, his animal telepathy deafening his hearing with the cries of the wildlife around him.

 _Monsters. Monsters. Monsters._ The birds above chanted as they flew with all of their might from the jungle. He felt their pain, their remorse for their home as the incoming storm tore it to ruin.

Thunder cracked through the sky, causing him to cover his head in fear of a storm. The power of the wind knocked him back down onto his face. He barely managed to pull his face from the dirt to see several bolts lightning strike down in a singular area while columns of wind circulated in power far beyond his imagination. Superhero movies couldn't compare to the density in the air, the beating of his heart in his chest.

 _Help me._

He stood back on his feet, bracing against a tree for support and staring in the direction the wind blew to. The voice came from there, sounding more in pained than when it spoke to him at Stonehenge.

He started forward, using the wind as his guide and willing his legs to stop shaking. He willed himself loudest of all to be brave; he too, after all, could be a hero now. For the two he lost in the teleportation to this place. For the boy who died at his feet in London with a smile and all of the hope he had for them to carry on. For his mother and father who screamed when the bees surrounded him like he was one of their own and cried for his safety. For John Smith, who came to him in a dream and asked for his hand, as well as many other humans with powers like his, in order to save the world once and for all. For his father who squeezed his hand with a bloody one and told him to run before the soldiers gunned him down as he defended his sons.

He first ran in fear, fear for his life and fear of attracting more tragedy to his family. His gift was a monstrosity. It killed anyone who came close to him. He ran from his peaceful home outside of Aachen, ran from himself. It took a few short hours before he had crossed the Netherlands border, before he found someone that helped him across the rest and through Belgium. Before he found someone to carry him across the sea to England.

He had left his family for four days when he met his first ally in London. Nigel Rally, though he hesitated in calling himself Rally. The boy with the white blonde mohawk and vulgar mouth surprised him instantly with such a kindness he didn't know he would have felt again. He offered to be his partner if the shorter boy offered his protection in exchange. They had each others backs in this cruel world and would figure out their new powers together.

They met the beautiful French girl in the city of London, mere hours before the haunting death of Natan on the crumbling ruins of the city streets. They ran together when the Mogadorian warships laid siege. They ran past screaming families, puddles of blood, and piles of carnage because the one way they could stop any of this was to get to the Garde. Until it's too much, until the other two start fighting off soldiers and trying to save every life they came across. Until the brunette boy was thrown in the dirt, stepped onto until he saw sparks and was forced to throw the weight of a person off of himself for the first time.

Until he realized what kind of animal he could become for the first time.

He rekindled with and lost his father in the same week. They met Natan and lost Natan in the same three days. If the short brunette boy from Germany lost his head now, he lost his head on his feet while he tried to shake off every ounce of fear in his brittle bones and see his true colors.

The storm stopped when he neared the end of the jungle; it was replaced with the sound of an aircraft like that of a military jet plane. He watched it shoot into the sky and take off through the dust, as it left him behind with the largest sky vessel only fantasy could imagine. Warship. Like in London.

The ground was littered with living Mogadorian soldiers.

He felt his blood run cold.

They pulled a large body from a deep crater in the Earth; the crater where the boy imagined the temple the voice spoke of once stood. Once out of sight and on board, the large ship slowly made its leave into the sky after the smaller plane.

Then, all of the soldiers left on the ground turned and faced the boy in cold fury. They charged.

He desperately used his telekinesis to fling as many of them back as he could, longing to run back into the jungle and lose them in the trees. The nearest two were flung into the six behind them with three other soldiers replacing them. He turned to run, to lie low and cover but the booming voice from the temple cried in his ears again.

 _HELP ME. SAVE ME._

Someone was down there. Someone needed his help. Like Natan needed him to be the savior of this planet. Like his father needed him to prove he was the son he deserved.

The boy dashed for the sole opening between the soldiers and barely made it past as clawed hands and weapons tore at his exposed flesh. He bit back the screams of pain, feeling the blood drip down his bare arms. He was on a run towards the temple and if he didn't make it there, it was because he died trying.

The boy had just reached the end of the crater when a hand pulled him back and crashed him into the ground. A heavy boot stepped onto the back of his head and pushed his face into the dirt. He grunted, feeling earth push into his nose and into his mouth. He willed his telekinesis to lift the soldier and toss him backwards, loosening the weight crushing him. He pulled his head up and coughed up as much dirt as he could before another grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him off of the ground.

 _Free me from this place. Return me._ The voice murmured.

 _Help me_ , the boy begged back, coughing up blood as the hand tightened around him. He weakly lifted a fist, uncurling his fingers, and grabbed the forearm as hard as he could with no effort. The soldier snickered at the helpless challenge. A little human boy against an alien beast birthed with the sole person to fight and destroy, it was almost laughable.

 _Help me._

 _I know… you're there._

He closed his eyes and braced for the worst when the rest of the soldiers laughed along with hid assailant.

 _Help me._

In a pinch, all he felt was unbearable heat. His body felt as though it were lit on fire. Perhaps it was a means of torture by the Mogs, to take as much pain as they could from their target after terrorizing the earth's monuments and heroes.

He gave them no satisfaction, gritting his teeth to keep himself from crying out.

The soldier who held him then let out a gut wrenching roar. Then, the ground all around began to violently shake them.

He opened his eyes in time to see his hands burst with a bright light and the Mog under his weak grip burst into a ball of the same color. The boy, startled, fell back into the dirt in a hard thud but dared not to move. He lifted himself up on his elbows, staring into the space the Mogadorian soldier once stood.

A collection of light solidified into a shape.

A body.

In the place of his adversary stood a boy with brown skin and thick curly black hair. His clothes were torn with the most notable tear being a small hole located in the middle of his upper back. As though he had been stabbed clean through. His posture was angry, while his fists were clenched and his eyes were aimed at the scores of soldiers in front of them. The other boy lifted a hand and tossed the soldiers back into the dirt like they weighed of paper. He then grinned wildly, looking down at his hands as though his strength surprised him. The curly haired boy flexed his fingers and let out a soft sigh.

'I'm… alive," he whispered almost to himself. He turned to face the short brunette, his green eyes shining with a mix of emotions. "You came and saved me."

His voice matched the ghostly echo he had been following here. The curly haired boy walked forward and extended his hand, lifting the fallen human back to his feet.

The boy hadn't realized he lost so much of his energy as soon as his savior appeared. Was this new friend to be a figment of himself and would leave him behind? The worry died with the rest of his strength as he stumbled forward but the other boy caught him and laughed quietly.

Laughed. On a battlefield.

"Your legacy is one of the rarest in all of Lorien's history, no wonder you're so drained," he started. "I'll save your introductions for another time. As for me, I am Number Eight and I have business to finish on this planet. All thanks to you, I can do that now."

A Loric.

And he, the boy, a small human being who can talk to insects and runs from his trouble, had found a way to bring him back into this life.

Miracles were real.

He _was far more_ than he believed if this Loric was in fact alive before him.

The short boy managed a weak smile.

Their meeting was cut short as the soldiers refound their places and marched forward once more, weapons exposed with war cries. Eight turned back to them, his expression now hardened.

"Enough," he called out, letting go of the boy. He crumpled to the dirt without the support, letting out a small grunt when his backside his the ground. Eight lifted his hands once more, throwing them backwards once again with his telekinesis. He posed, then before the human boy's eyes began to change shape entirely. He grew five times his size, into the shape of a lion monster with several arms. "This little battle ends now."

With a roar, Eight's new form, complete with muscles and endless stamina, charged into the soldiers and tore them apart.

He sat and watched as soldiers were ripped limb from limb, reduced into nothing but ash piles on the jungle flour. A few soldiers tried to slash at his many arms but only got as far as light scratches before they were either picked up and tossed or pulled apart. A lone fighter came from behind, attempting to stab him with some form of bladed weapon but Eight didn't falter when the metal bended around his skin. He turned and shoved the Mog soldier back with such force he exploded into black dust on impact to the ground.

It took no time at all before the ground surrounding them was covered in black ash. The boy started in utter shock. Eight shrunk down into his human like form once again, patting himself of the clouds of black ash. He winced at the cuts that now littered his arms, a little more red and bloodied than when he was in his transformation.

"Now. Let's get out of here, yeah?" He said, his soft smile returning to his face. The boy could only smile, the energy it takes to smile still lost. Eight hoisted one of his arms over his head and walked into the crater.

At the bottom sat one sole Loralite shard, only visible as Eight walked them closer. He picked it up and clenched it hard in his fist.

"Niagara," the boy whispered, feeling his lungs almost cave with the effort.

"Hey. You put up a good fight, just rest yourself," Eight replied gently. Another shock of kindness. "You're in luck, I'm a teleporter so I have at least a little more experience than you guys do at this transporting thing. I'll get us to the falls in no time at all and then you can properly relax."

In a flash, the two of them were gone and the short boy's back was dampened with mist.

"Oi, you made it." A British accent breathed, followed by a charge of footsteps. Nigel and Fleur. He was back. He tried to count the pairs, hearing far more than two sets, but they were lost on his ears. All he knew was that a group was residing here.

"We thought we lost you in the teleportation, we've been searching for hour- oh. Uh… you're not Bertrand. You're… holding him."

His voice raised, tingling Bertrand's ears as his lack of control over his sound legacy escaped with his louder tone.

'Trand, who's your new friend? And who the fuck hurt you?"

"It's all taken care of, you can relax my new friends," Eight's reply was easy, like he assumed a few words would work effortlessly. "Humans with legacies, I still can't believe my sacrifice had enough power to free that Entity of all Legacies onto humanity.

"Like hell I'll relax, what the fuck is going on here? Why are you talking in bollock riddles?!" The Brit spat.

Eight set the boy down and stood back up. He extended his hand in a greeting, a big smile on his face.

He was as real and alive as he could be.

"Your friend here saved me and I owe him a lot. There's just too much for me to explain alone and I was sort of there when John tried to start. I'm sure I can help John fill in when we all unite."

Nigel wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he narrowed his eyes at the mention of John Smith.

Eight didn't back down, just softened in his expression.

"I am Number Eight, a once lost Loric returned to this life, and I am going to help save Earth."


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Chapter 1 is here now! This is more of an introduction into the character's head spaces and touching on some of the character conflicts that are to come, enjoy!**

* * *

Those ragged breaths would haunt him for the rest of his life.

His hand was still coated in the cracked, dry blood from his hand snapping the satellite phone in pieces. It was an accident but right now, all of his emotional episodes were accidents. One cold snap at Sam, another angry altercation with the US soldiers. Daniela and Nine kept their distance since the news; he didn't know what he resented more.

John Smith was not one to be around. If he could still feel heat, he believes he would have felt every last brush of it sap from his core completely.

Dead.

John hadn't held a real conversation with anyone in two days.

 _Gone_.

John tore into the first person to speak up to him and barely felt the guilt that followed.

 _Sarah_.

He closed his eyes, squeezing the lids together tight enough with the hope that all of this was a cruel dream. Those gasps. The pain in her voice. The line going dead. Another cruel vision Setrakus Ra planted into him.

But those sounds of her sharp breathing, the desperate tone in her voice as she quickly told him she would always love him and the splitting silence that followed told him that he knew it was all true. He knew his Sarah; he knew her moods, her signature expressions, her will.

Now, he had lost Sarah.

And with her dying words, he felt pieces of himself die beside her.

He flexed his bloodied hand, ignoring every urge to finally heal it. He ignited his Lumen, watching the way the blue light glowed over the brown streaks. The injury screamed with protest but he persisted; his face remained unchanged by the pain.

He could tolerate his physical pains now. His body no longer knew how much exhaustion screamed, his stamina had no limits.

It was in those final moments that John decided he would finally and only rest when he was dead.

He'd bleed and burn over every feeling that came out of him. Emotions get in the way; emotions get people killed.

Important people.

 _Sarah_.

Now he truly knew why Nine kept himself at a distance from the rest of the world when he was finally free from West Virginia.

Nine was smart in that way. It was just another strategy he was masterful at. Nine held each and every one of them on a short stick after the traumas he faced from the Mogadorians and it showed in every piece of his warrior heart.

John understands how Nine is woven bit by bit now. Why John had almost been dropped to his death from the tower in Chicago to prove a point, why the other Garde just has to have the last laugh no matter who he fought, why he almost risked his life to start a feud over nothing and settle it feud over revenge with another Garde. Nine lost many different allies after opening up to them, it made sense to close off the rest of the world before someone else got caught up in the damage too.

First, he would have to become a voided monster like the thirst for power intended; then he would light and extinguish that power all at once.

A soft laughter filled the hallway outside of his room, distracted him from his thoughts but only for a moment. He killed the glow and angled his hearing a little. A second voice piped up, sounding amused and carefree.

Sam and Dani. Humans who didn't have the capacity to love like he had. Who hadn't lost someone the way he had.

He tried not to hold it against them. They didn't process these feelings the same way he or the other Garde did. Love was a precious emotion to the Loric people; half of his Legacies were found on the strength of or the fear for love.

His trying didn't last long when he snarled at Sam.

Their voices grew louder as they crept closer to his room but John blocked out the words of their meaningless chattering. He just listens to the sounds, turning his head back down to his hand as if to hide something. To hide the new version of himself he was prepping, perhaps; he didn't want them to see what he was doing to himself internally.

"John? Are you… busy," Sam asked quietly. He sounded worried… maybe even afraid. Afraid of the next reaction any kind of conversation with John would insight. Sam wanted to keep the things between them safe. He wanted things to go back to the way they were but that could never happen.

More evidence how Sam was only human.

"No, what's going on," John asked, no longer surprised by the cold sound of his own voice.

Sam swallowed but Dani's voice interrupted him before he could stutter his words out.

"That other ship you guys sent out days ago is about to come back in and they picked up more human Garde," she sounded strained, like she had more to say but it had nothing to do with the topic at hand. Dani wanted to lay into him.

He'd only claw back.

"Alright." John hoped the one word would be enough to send them off.

"That's not all," Sam continued, butting in before Dani's exasperated sigh turned into a long awaited shouting match. "They… they found something. Or, well someone. Something or someone incredible. Six was too choked up to say exactly what before transmission cut out."

That peaked John's interest. He finally turned to face the two with an eyebrow raised. Six was another soldier who learned to keep her head on her shoulders and her feelings in a neat little box inside her mind. Sam broke the lock on that box but she fought to let any of that show. Hearing her getting emotional about something else so easily… unheard of.

"Not a word?"

Dani rolled her eyes while Sam's face lightly winced.

"No but… whatever it is, it sounds like very good news."

John only nodded before turning around, looking down at the old injuries in the dry blood streaked hand. He clenched a fist, finally considering activating his healing legacy and let the wound close over.

"Let me know when they land," was the last he could mutter, too fixated on his powers. On the twinge of pain his hand gave out.

There was an awkward pause of silence, only interrupted by a quiet, pained groan, before the sound of shuffling of feet started and faded out until John knew they'd left his thoughts.

He lit his Lumen.

It healed him instead.

He narrowed his eyes, opening the hand once more and turning it over to examine the work. In the place of the scratches across his palm were dark scars, like thick tan lines in his skin. He frowned; surely his power couldn't have burned those lines into him like that. He should have felt the agony of the injuries being irritated.

Maybe he's too blind to his pain after all. Another weapon at his disposal.

He would not be like Pittacus Lore. He would not stand back and let every person he love die for the sake of so little. Anyone who got in his way now would face the consequences, ally or not.

Six didn't hallucinate the feeling. Her shock only enhanced.

She'd spent the last few hours of the day's flight in bed, resting after exerting all of her energy into the final blow on Setrakus Ra. The last drop of her energy was spent grieving a gracious human girl that the Loric never deserved.

A painful sensation in her ankle had pulled her awake from her nightmare but she hadn't checked to see if anything happened.

Six knew what she would feel if she checked the skin. Instead, she glanced up to the left where she knew her tears dripped.

Sarah Hart's cold, lifeless form laid mere feet away from her, covered in a black tarp so the rest of them don't have to see what they did wrong anymore. Mark James sat next to the bundle, staring down like he expected her to awaken at any moment. He paid no attention to her or anyone else around him, hugging a rifle to his chest and blinking once and awhile.

Six bit back more tears and stood up, dizzy from her nap. It hadn't done her much.

"You don't sound too good, I don't even have to look at you to know that," Lexa's voice called from the cockpit. Six forgot the pilot was here, that she'd stayed so close to them during the final moments of the fight.

"I'm not sure I'll ever really feel good," Six replied, looking around. Adam wasn't close by but when Six glanced towards Lexa's direction, she found his tall, lanky figure seated next to her fuddling with a tablet. Possibly stolen from one of the Mog warships they'd crossed with; typical Adam found a way to break it and use it with little effort. Marina laid a short distance from her, covered in bruising and a thin blanket Six used to cover the other Loric up with before passing out herself. Marina almost died on the field against Setrakus; Six almost lost two of her good friends.

She shouldn't have lost any of her friends today.

Next to Marina sat Ella in a quiet trance, as though she was meditating. She opened an eye to acknowledge Six but said nothing. Ella knew what was going to happen to them down in Mexico, she'd foreseen all of it but couldn't convey anything she'd seen in a vision to them in a way that would have changed anything. Her eyes were sad, still glowing quietly blue from her connection with the Entity, before she closed them and returned to her meditation.

"I found something worth investigating on a livestream from a national news team," Adam called suddenly. He gestured to his tablet as evidence by waving it at her. "Loralite has spawned all over, just like the Entity said. It looks like there's a huge cluster at Niagara Falls. However, this reporter got a glimpse of someone teleporting in near the crystals and now there's a huge shitstorm brewing online about magic and controlling 'these new alien devils.'"

"That's not good, if we're catching it out here then that means the Mogs have definitely seen it by now. Setrakus Ra might be dead but his warriors will carry on."

Mogs meant danger. Mogs meant war, hardship, terror. Things will always be on the line for the Garde to protect this planet that gave them a home after they lost their own.

She felt dizzy and sick again.

 _No more dead._

She tries to focus her thoughts somewhere else, anywhere else, but found them back to her nightmares. Besides her stood both Sam and Sarah, shouting words she couldn't hear as they fought of armies of Mogadorian Elites while Setrakus Ra laughed his cruel sneer above all of them. Sarah shot down Mogadorians who came too close while Sam stayed loyally at her side.

Sam, who was supposed to be miles away under John's safety.

Sam, who helped her open herself up to be who she wanted.

Dream Six pulled Setrakus Ra down from an all dark sky with her full power and impaled him like she had back in the sanctuary's ruins through the density of a storm and stood triumphantly over his dead body. Mogadorians around them turned into ash but the storms in the sky never let up. The storms in her dreams were she hadn't called to form.

Ones she had no control of.

Storms that brew with intensity but made no noise.

Dream Six had looked around a suddenly quiet battlefield. Her feet moving through piles of humanoid bodies, of faces of people she'd never met but let die while she gloated her victory. She came across the fallen forms of everyone who mattered. Marina was sprayed across the ground like a ragdoll with clear eyes, Adam slumped against a distant tree with his legs twisted at awkward angles, and Lexa laid forced through the window of her ship covered in blood.

She could have sworn she caught glimpses of John and Nine amongst the wreckage as well, even though they were miles away in New York City, fighting against the ships there.

Her feet came to Sam next.

He took every shot aimed at her with a smile full of blood. His face was caked in red, his body full of holes and cuts too grave for any healer to restore.

For some reason, Sam had been wearing her pendant.

At the end of it all was her.

Sarah Hart was crumpled to the ground a distance from Sam, dead with a smile on her face as well and the satellite phone clenched in her hand. She'd said her farewells; she had her chance to bid goodbye.

But she didn't deserve to die.

 _I will always love you._ Sarah's lost words replies in her head, even in her dreams.

Dream Six had collapsed to the ground and screamed. Screamed like the world would hear her and answer her pleas for another chance. She'd save them all from this fate. The world had answered, but with evil, as it called back with the sounds of roaring Mogadorians. She turned to face a new army, smirking and dripping in black blood from every pore.

These were terrors, they weren't just Mogadorians or models of aliens sent to exterminate the Loric.

Six stood on her feet like the soldier she was, the last standing Loric in a never ending Mogadorian nightmare. When she charged with all confidence to win, she felt a searing pain in her ankle, strong enough to cripple her, and she slammed into the dirt to hold it.

The Mogs were everywhere at once.

Phiri Dun was there, her signature wicked smile and a Mogadorian blade wielded high as she cackled.

That's when Six woke up.

Her ankle. That's right. Six snapped her eyes back open; her curiosity peaked once more. She sat next to where she rested next to the sleeping Marina and pulled the leftover fabric of her pant leg up to examine her scars. They still puffed out and looked discolored as she remembered. The symbols used to count numbers in a lost language branded her with the friends she would never learn. She turned her ankle to see them all in a better light and froze.

One of the symbols looked like it missing.

Six frowned, brushing her fingertips over the skin of each of the scars from the past Garde. One, Two, Three, and Eight; they were scarred by the death of their fallen brothers and sisters, not just a warnings but as reminders of who they were to fight for.

But Eight's symbol was missing.

"We're landing," Lexa's shout pulled her from her thoughts. Six flinched, kicking herself for getting too wrapped up in her own feelings. She peered out the nearest window and found it covered in the wreckage of Mogadorian airships. Smaller crafts, similar to human jet planes for wars only intergalactic fighters have ever seen.

"This doesn't look like New York," Six said, glancing around. "Unless the city was pulverized. Did they have to flee?"

"That video stream I found earlier? Yeah, turns out humans are idiots, who would have knew," Adam growled the last line sarcastically from his place next to Lexa. He turned to face Six and showed her an image of two people. The person on the left, a lanky boy with a bleach blonde mohawk and tripped sleeve shirt was giving a thumbs up to a beautiful blonde girl who hoisted up a Mog skimmer over her head like it weighed like paper. "We're going to get them before they fuck this up more."

"Don't post anything, that's rule fucking one," Six muttered to herself. "Let me down, I'll go kick some heads in." She spoke louder to Lexa and Adam.

"Not in your condition," Adam interrupted instantly, standing up to meet her eye. Unfortunately for Six, Adam stood at an easy six foot six, barely taller than Nine, but huge compared to her, and he had the power to hold her back. One's legacy coursed through his veins and that was enough to hold her back by brute force. But all of Adam's work he'd done for the Loric's mission, for Malcolm Goode and beyond, was enough to lower any doubt she had in him at any instance.

"I'm going out there Adam, but I know I'm not ready to go alone so I'd better see you somewhere behind me."

"That's better except I'm leading since I studied the map," he grinned despite themselves. "Come on, let's educate some children. Their school days aren't done just yet."

The two disembarked carefully, taking in the roar of the falls and the numberless streams of smoke filling the sky around them.

"What… exactly could have happened here," Six murmured in awe. "It looks like a full out assault on the Loralite but the Mogadorians got their shit kicked in. Big time."

"That's probably what happened," Adam added, brushing past fallen rocks and jagged pieces of metal from fallen skimmers. He paused, trying to listen the best he could to any sound that wasn't the waterfall.

"But these humans? Adam, they're only just developing legacies. I doubt any of them have real world battle experience either.

"Like you haven't hurt someone or something trying to control your first legacy," he retorted half heartedly. Adam's focus was beyond her; he was searching for some sign of life, good or evil. "I think we keep expecting the worst, maybe this is some sort of blessing."

"Maybe. Unless… maybe they lost. And these Mog ships are what they managed to take down."

"I doubt Mogadorians would risk too many operations right now with Setrakus Ra presumably dead."

Presumably. That word bothered Six but she knew why Adam said it. They hadn't seen his body and they saw the way the Mogadorians swarmed after she impaled him during the storm.

There was a slim chance that the self proclaimed Great Leader was still alive.

 _And I'll hit him again. Harder. Until he's gone forever._

They made their way past the falls, past scores of downed Mogadorian Skimmers. The air was dense with the smell of ash and scorched nature. Adam stopped occasionally surveying the area for any signs of life, friend or foe. Six brushed her hand across the Loralite cluster as they neared the glimmering columns of blue crystal. It was a beautiful as she remembered it being from her time in the Himalayas.

Such fond memories caused her chest to ache. If only she had been stronger to save yet another one of her friends; if only she could have weighed all of her options, like the possibility of there being a traitor among them to losing one of the only Garde left in existence. Katarina would be disappointed in the progress she lost along the way since meeting the rest of the Garde. How careless she'd started becoming.

Who could be next? Her thoughts crossed to Sam but only for a moment before she shoved those feelings back into the box in her mind they had a tendency to escape from.

So lost in her thoughts, Six felt herself run into Adam's arm. She knew that signal, that Adam was on the alert and searching for any sign of life. She should be doing the same, cursing herself internally for being so spaced out.

"Here I thought the rest of the alien superstars forgot about us," an accented English voice called out from a distance. Six narrowed her eyes. Human beings could be so stupid.

"Here I thought the kids with freaky powers on the run from their own kid would have a better sense to keep quiet," Adam countered, crossing his arms.

"Unwarranted," the British boy waved his hands, irritation plain on his face even from the distance. "Besides, we clearly have things under control by ourselves here." He began to walk towards them and added, angling his head to a nearby downed Mogadorian Skimmer.

"What do you mean the rest of the aliens," Six called. "None of the Garde have moved from their locations in the last few days save those of us who just landed."

"Well another one of your weirdo friends showed up two days ago, saved Bertrand from a cruel fate down in Mexico apparently."

Adam and Six exchanged a glance. That's where they'd come from and last time she checked, every Garde was accounted for back on the ship with Lexa and Mark guarding.

"I don't think that's a Garde seeing as we just came from that sight in Mexico," Adam growled. The human boy was now close enough for Six to get a decent look at him. He wore his aesthetic all over, from his bleached mohawk to his ripped t-shirt and jeans. The boy from the photo, how fitting he'd continue to show his inexperience in front of them.

"Nigel!" A female voice called panicked from behind him. Six looked around him to see the blonde girl from the photo. She stopped a short distance from them, her expression suddenly hardening.

"We can kill you too, monster."

"Adam is on our side," Six cut in, returning the girl's foul stare with a glare of her own. She prayed this wouldn't be a theme as they jump from person to person; Adam shouldn't have to continue to prove himself more and more just because he looked a certain way. "If you don't like it, you can go back home. We have no need for you."

The girl looked between the two of them, frowning, but didn't add. Her curly blonde hair was tied behind her head and her blouse was ripped and blood stained all over. Her fist was clenched tight to her side, shaking with the effort to stand her ground in front of Six.

For a second, Six thought she saw Sarah but the girl's eyes were nur brown instead of light blue. She bit her lip to clear her head.

This girl had super strength. Six remembers her effortlessly holding a plane over her head in the photo. Maybe even physically stronger than Nine; they needed power like that.

"At ease Fleur, don't you recognize her from that hippie dream," Nigel, the British boy, grinned and placed a hand in her shoulder. Fleur shot Adam one last nervous look and nodded softly.

"And… as was he. But he is… I am confused."

"We all are," her friend shrugged. "Let the Lorics do the talking like the other big hero said they would."

"Nig, what's-" a third voice called and stopped. Six and Adam turned towards the sound, of the short boy with the shaggy brown hair. Bertrand, Six remembered him saying. He spoke directly to John in the vision, about his animal telepathy. But right now in front of her, he didn't look too sure of himself anymore.

Behind him stood a girl with short black hair who barely met his height. She narrowed her eyes between Six and Adam but said nothing, merely crossing her arms and walked forward. She paused at Nigel's side, not once moving her eyes from Adam until she could piece together what she was seeing the same way Fleur had.

Only then did she relax.

"That's Ran," Nigel piped up. "She doesn't speak a word of English but she gets the point to most of your messages no problem."

Six merely nodded to the human and moved her eyes back up to Bertrand.

The boy on the hill looked over his shoulder, as thought he was talking to someone. He nodded quickly, almost embarrassed, then turned to start walking the same way down.

"H-hi," he called out, stumbling over himself. He quickly descended from his spot towards them, brushing past Nigel and Fleur to stand in front. The top of his head just met her forehead in height and he smelled like ash. He extended out a shaky, pale hand.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Six replied, trying to keep her tone welcoming but felt every part of her confidence slip. This was the group that was supposed to help them.

"And it's nice to finally see you again, Six."

She stopped entirely, a short distance from Bertrand's hand.

She knew that voice; she knew that voice belonged to someone who couldn't be here. To someone she should have been able to save.

Slowly, Six looked up to the hill once again.

Her eyes met the standing, smiling form of Number Eight. He slowly walked down the landscape, every stride as real as the last.

"You're…" Six began, but couldn't get herself to finish. Eight brushed past the three human Garde and stood just behind Bertrand.

Six felt every part of herself cave in temporarily. She struggled to breath, finding herself stumbling forward. Her feet started moving faster, too fast for her current thought process to comprehend. She tore past the short boy in front of her. Next thing she knew, she had pulled the now standing Number Eight into the tightest hug she'd ever mustered completely in tears.

"Hey to you too, Six," he chuckled softly, answering her hug with one of his own.

It was warm as always.

Bertrand hadn't known what to expect from the Loric. He always fantasised what it would be like to meet their allies from the distant planets. From the many galaxies that separate them. The library vision only gave away so much about John Smith and the rest of his kind. Bertrand struggled to remember any details he could except the blonde boy and the voice of the little girl who held down the monster in the chair.

So many things he didn't understand. He could piece together enough to know that the beast that shared the vision with them was the leader of the villains who plagued their Earth.

How alike were the Loric actually to people like he and his new friends? How did a Loric use his or her legacies differently than the humans? Did they use them to life bullies over their heads and show off for Loric boys and girls? Did the Loric have fashion sense, cultures, extravagant lifestyles like many humans on Earth did?

The vision gave them an idea what the Loric were like but that didn't stop him from imagining just how the aliens could be in person.

Bertrand always imagined a Loric looking like Superman in person, with a long cape and bulging muscles bodybuilders would be jealous of, levitating evil doers around his head like weighted of paper. Maybe there was a Loric Justice League, he would joke to himself, or some council of people who were going to help save them from all damnation and he didn't have to put on his super suit and step into the fray himself. He hoped John Smith's friends were like that; he hoped he never had to see blood and corpses again

Then, he met one. Then he met a second one. He even met a witty but true hearted Mogadorian. And now he knew a little more of how to feel.

His savior back in Mexico, the incredible Number Eight, was the first Loric he physically met but he wasn't one any of the other humans could recognize. He hadn't recognized him either, just from the sound of a cast off, disembodied voice as Eight had called to him from the grave to free him.

Number Eight was supposed to be dead. His body was supposed to be debris scattered amongst the stardust in the blast of Loric energy that charged all of their powers.

The second Garde Bertrand met, Number Six, said so herself. He remembers her wide, disbelieving look, even as Eight pulled her into a tight hug and shook himself in a fight with tears. He remembers the effort being overwhelming lost seeing the waterworks that came from the both of them in their reunion.

Number Eight had told Bertrand and the other humans the story of his death but with a soft smile on his face like it were only a nightmare; he called Bertrand the second one who broke the prophecy and joked that hopefully soon he could be his own hero for once. He spoke of far off cave drawings and a girl he loved with his whole being, of a traitor he hoped would find his way home and of a soldier who would never win a true fight as long as he fought himself. Eight didn't reel in the idea that he was the reason the two of them were safe or actively pushed off how much of a hero he could actually be. He merely told them that he wasn't going to take this second chance for granted, no matter how much of a hero he became in the end.

Bertrand liked Eight a lot already. Between him, the warrior that Number Six showed herself to be just in the way she approached them, and his faint understanding of John Smith, he knew Earth was in good hands.

They were all going to be heroes like them.

Bertrand could still barely believe what he had done. Eight had been dead until a day ago, dead until Bertrand called for the help of anyone who would hear him and summoned a Garde. He remembers a light and the complete, sudden loss of energy as soon as the other boy appeared.

He hoped it was a new power of his; he was still convinced that day was all a coincidence. Eight and Six believed he developed a legacy so rare that most Loric people didn't even realize it existed. Six said her tutor taught her about every legacy she could imagine, that the Loric's legacy system stemmed so deep that Garde could have even the power to resurrect the dead. But the legacy was so sparse that even the mighty ruling elder from their world didn't even have the ability to use it.

Another power, but this one was far more useful for someone like him.

Bertrand wasn't a fighter. He didn't have a violent bone in his body, even if someone was asking for his absolute worst. He had used his telekinesis to help his family around their farm, helping harvest honey and do as many chores as his new powers could manage.

He only used his power to throw enemies back or startle them. Mogadorian or not.

Bertrand knew he would have to teach himself to fight back using these gifts.

He knew enough about the origins of his powers from the news. The Loric is weren't good people; they strived for perfection, for balance, but only if it fit their needs. They didn't spare for the traumas of the people of Earth so long as their fight was over. He also knew not to blindly trust the news; many stations continued to try and vilify John's efforts to help the world when he spoke so open and promising to them in the vision.

His parents tried to vilify the Loric and John Smith until they saw that their son had "come down with the disease."

Nigel Rally Barnaby next to him nudged him hard in the shoulder, breaking his long train of thoughts.

"Oi, quit thinking so loud," the Brit grinned, squeezing his shoulder. Bertrand was grateful for his rash friend in tense moments like these. They waited quietly for the rest of the Garde to arrive, having only met the two so far. The ship held at least two other Garde but neither had been in commission to speak; one girl laid bruised and unconscious while the other sat in a tight, meditative state. The driver of the ship, who called herself Lexa, was another Loric but she bared no legacies, just the scientific knowledge to fly a ship and crack any government database.

The flight to this compound had been quick but Bertrand only remembers dozing off and Nigel shaking him awake.

Six hastily moved them from room to room in the government facility until she found a place they could relax until the other Garde arrived. It was wide open, like a lazy gymnasium that schools disguised as a separate, spare room of many uses.

"I'm not trying to," he mumbled, shifting nervously on his feet. Nigel stood only a few inches taller than him, lanky with a bleached mohawk and ripped clothing. He wasn't sure what rips came with the outfit anymore. The punk aesthetic, Nigel had told Bertrand once to distract him from the bloody concrete, was to be as hardcore in dress and in attitude as possible. It reflected in every piece of Nigel that made him… well, Nigel. Bertrand admired that; he liked how Nigel had something he cherished enough to commit his life to.

It was among many things he liked, perhaps too much, about his new friend. He was open and honest, never holding back his word or his opinions. Bertrand quietly reminded himself not to linger too long on Nigel Rally. He had a tendency to float too far along with new friends since he had such a hard time keeping them. He wasn't going to blow his first real friend in years.

"The shit we can do? We're gonna scare the piss out of these blokes no problem."

Bertrand hoped that was true. He surveyed the room for what was probably the twentieth time in the past hour, taking in every person who stood with him. While Nigel stood to his right, Fleur from France was to his left. She was also taller than Bertrand, with curly blonde hair and fists of absolute steel. She knew when she had to be soft, tossing her hair and flashing her beautiful smile to lure anyone into a sense of security, and she knew when she had to be rough, like when she ripped those Mogadorian soldiers off of the armed men and women with her bare hands. When the coast had been clear and the armed forces gathered their losses, Fleur wouldn't admit to anyone how she crumpled to the ground, covered in other's blood, and screamed until Nigel and Bertrand could get to her.

She'd met up with Nigel and Bertrand on the trip to Stonehenge, on a retreat in Europe when a particular battle between the UN troops and the Mogadorian forces in London got ugly.

Fleur had wanted to fight, she hadn't wanted to find a way to escape her legacies. Even if it meant killing, Fleur wanted to make this planet her home once again. Nigel had been the same way, giving his own version of a heroic speech at every stop along the way to the Loralite stone at Stonehenge. Bertrand wasn't like them; he had other ideas for his developing powers, peaceful ones, but that hadn't been ideal in a war zone.

He can still smell the ash. Feel the blood of soldiers he'd tried to help.

See the faint outline of the boy they couldn't save.

 _Be what I see._

Bertrand averted his eyes from Fleur as soon as he could, fearing the memories that might resurge if he lingered for too long. His thoughts were a jumbled mess with no focus or control but he had to spare himself a little; those fights were only a week ago now. His eyes found Ran Takeda, meditating a few feet from the group. Ran had met up with the rest of them at Niagara Falls; she was the reason the rest of them survived the Mogadorian skirmish with little injuries besides his own burns and Fleur's. She was another human Garde that no one dared to mess with. Her Legacy was particularly violent; she could charge an object's atoms with energy to the point it could burst like bombs.

Ran doesn't speak to anyone, just holds her ground and keeps her frown frozen in place. She was intimidating but nothing stopped Nigel short of talking to her and finding a way to befriend her that only Nigel Rally could.

Another trait Bertrand longed to have and loved to see in action.

Caleb Crane stood an even further distance from Ran, staring down at his feet as though he was coming to terms with his demons. He hadn't been at the falls but already part of the US Army. His brother Christian stood a short distance from Caleb. The two were never far from each other though Caleb did all of the talking. Christian, Bertrand decided, was like Ran; there had to be more to him than Caleb or he let on about himself. Where as Caleb looked vulnerable, Christian looked blank and focused on nothing but the doorway ahead. Maybe he was paralyzed with wonder.

Or fear.

"We're all acting like this is a bloody execution, light up everyone," Nigel suddenly called out. Bertrand flinched at his tone.

"What if it is," Fleur countered. She walked in front of Nigel accusingly. "What if we came here to die?"

"Nonsense, John Smith the hero has faith in us," Nigel argued.

"But the rest of them look scared and pitiful of us!" Fleur yelled back. "I am a cute, French blonde girl, clearly it is a pity I am to fight!"

"Did you even _look_ at Six? The hot ones are definitely the deadliest ones," Nigel shrugged.

Fleur glared, her face starting to redden.

"I did while you were staring at-"

"What, he's a good looking fella! We have the same style," Nigel cut in with a flustered wave of his hands.

"However, I am not talking about them," Fleur snapped again. "I am talking about John Smith. He did not greet us. He did not look for us. He has done nothing for us since we arrive."

"Natan believed in him." Bertrand murmured quietly. Fleur and Nigel turned to him, the same mix of shock and grief in their eyes. They exchange a silent glance, like the ones Bertrand knows they've been perfecting whenever they have to mind their tones around him.

Like he was a fragile child thrown into danger.

"Natan would want us to go on and be brave," He continued with a frown, fiddling with the ruined collar of his shirt. It was torn in the places he ducked out of mogadorian gun fire both in London and at the falls. It was a miracle the fabric still clung to his body at all after the mess of fights he'd found his way into.

"He wanted to be a hero. Now he wants us to be his heroes for him. Let's have faith."

Ran lifted her head to look at him from her pose, a silent frown on her face. Her eyes pained ever slightly but it was gone as soon as she realized Bertrand was looking at her. She blinked once, a quiet message, maybe a warning, before turning back to her silence.

There was so much more than he could know to just about all of them; Bertrand didn't know if that relieved or scared him most of all. He wanted to know who he was allying himself with, human or Loric. He liked knowing the simple things and keeping those people inside of a neat little box in his head.

Fleur sung French pop quietly to herself when she walked, Ran took a deep breath every ten minutes per mediation session. Christian didn't even blink while Caleb fidgeted with the drawstrings on his Maryland Eastern Shore University hoodie whenever he had something he wanted to add.

Nigel… didn't fit in his mental box. Nigel was a continued shock and Bertrand couldn't find a way let go of the power supply and try a different angle. But, he also found himself ok with all of these electric sparks. A friend so open and willing wasn't something he was used to.

A friend as good looking was also something he wasn't used to.

 _Snap out of it!_

A loud bang sounded from somewhere down the hall. The group all turned towards the open doorway, expecting the worst. From the way he remembered how this secret, underground military base in Patience Creek was laid out under a bed and breakfast, Bertrand remembered one of the larger hallways leading to a set of heavy doors. Those heavy doors led to the place that aircrafts managed to pull up into without a trace, to where the humans had first been let down from Lexa's ship.

"...wrong with you but take it easy on them, alright?" The first voice sounded deep and wary with every word. Worried.

"I can't promise that." The second voice was much colder, and the words felt flattened by the lack of feeling. Dead words. Dead voice.

"Look, they don't get-"

"That they almost costed us their help and their powers."

"You mean one power."

"I am not continuing this."

A loud, agitated sigh followed. Bertrand tensed; he felt like he recognized the second voice but he couldn't be as sure. The Garde he swore to have had spoken to him once before was lively, practically blistering with all of the hope and confidence for the future. These Garde approaching sounded tired and disconnected.

Hopeless.

John Smith was supposed to be a hero. Bertrand could practically feel Natan's spiritual presence aching with nervous excitement. But why did he sound so… raw?

The pair was in the doorway in an instant, approaching the group of kids in a slow, synchronized walk. The boy on the left Bertrand knew instantly as the one who asked for their help. The taller boy on the right looked familiar enough that he could deduce him as another Garde.

"Well well, a couple of you mangy kids did manage to make it," the taller boy spoke first, a wicked grin on his face. "Here I thought we might have scared all of you off seeing as this little call to arms now looks like a suicide mission."

Fleur sent Nigel a sharp look but the Brit didn't budge. He kept his eyes fixated on Nine, one of his eyebrows cocked in disbelief. Nigel's thoughts were plain as could be on his face.

 _This prick_ was another Garde in front of them, Bertrand slowly recognized him from the rash one from the spirit library. The newcomer's slack posture gave away his personality; he kept himself very proud and devilish, like he was talking down to them no matter how lax his joke was. He stood big compared to Bertrand or even Caleb, the tallest of the humans, standing easily near six foot four. The second Garde was not only taller than any of the humans but built in ways any athlete would be jealous of, not to forget he wasn't wearing a shirt to show off every inch of his muscular, brown skinned body. His hair was long and black, dripping over his face and just down his shoulders. His smile was feral, almost like smirking was his default setting no matter who was in front of him.

Everything about this moment made him sweat; he cursed himself for over thinking everyone so much. From first seeing Six and Adam to this, Bertrand knew his worst quality was his panic. The only thing his high wired mind could do was hope that the cockiness wasn't going to be an issue.

His mind wandered somewhere else for a minute.

Why did these aliens have to be attractive? Why did _assholes_ get to be hot?

Bertrand lightly smacked his cheek to clear his head, hoping it went unnoticed.

"You can call me Nine, I'm going to be your best bet from here on out," Nine continued. "Legacy training will start with me so prepare yourselves because I am not gentle. And also… well, hello there ladies. I'm sure I can make this little retreat worth your while in the end at least." He added with a wink. Ran squeezes her eyes shut while Fleur took a deep breath but it didn't disguise the small tint of pink flushing on her cheeks.

Bertrand held back his laugh when John Smith next to him made his eye roll as obvious as possible. Nine didn't even blink at it.

"We're here for another reason besides your limp dick," John said, eyeing every one of the human Garde carefully.

Nine growled something to himself before replying, "correction. You're here for something else stupidly selfish, I'm here because these kids are going to help us finally win this war. Distractions for myself and others right now are welcomed and appreciated."

"We have no time."

"You have time, you just refuse to listen to anyone else talk that isn't some made up motivational words by a disembodied dead girl."

The two glared at each other but to Bertrand's surprise, Nine's gaze softened up first. The tall Garde frowned a little deeper and looked down at his feet.

"Sorry, that was... Just get your business over with," he murmured.

John turned back to the human Garde without another nudge towards the other boy. Even after a minor altercation like that, his eyes remained dull and lifeless. Nine looked like he was holding back showing off any of his damages.

"All of you in this room have powers beyond even things the Loric have seen," John started. "While most of you are reckless and inconsiderate, some have already proven your worth on the battlefield and behind the scenes with your specific powers. I'm willing to let all of you prove you want to learn by sparring Nine and Six to help you."

Nigel looked like he wanted to argue almost instantly but kept his mouth shut when Bertrand and Ran both elbowed him. Ran was wary, narrowing her eyes at his hurtful comments while Bertrand tensed and waited for him to say something they'd hope for.

John Smith is supposed to be a hero. Natan's face covered in dried blood flashed in his thoughts for an instant yet again; let Natan's wishes be true.

It was Nine's turn to roll his eyes. He casted John a withering look but didn't comment. Clearly, he didn't like being ordered or spoken for; given John's detached state, Bertrand couldn't blame a proud boy like Nine for hating every word John said. How do these Garde even get along when they were so far at each other's throats?

"You all have extraordinary gifts that the rest of us want to help you master," John started again, dragging his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time across the room, from person to person, "but first, I have to know who. Someone in this room is hiding something very important from me."

Those dead blue eyes hardened with his pause. Then, the blonde Garde's next words sent a frightful chill down his spine.

"Which one of you has Legacy of Resurrection?"


	3. Chapter 2

The room was a blend of jagged chill and pure terror all at once but Bertrand couldn't place a reason for either. All he knew was that John's piercing blue eyes were on him for a flash of time and he could have sworn the blonde boy just knew everything he had to give with one dirty look.

For some reason, that fact scared him. He felt all defense on his mind start to crumble weakly, his hands were shaking with effort to hold his ground.

Maybe it was his fear of people. Or maybe it was that the cold, desolate Garde in front of him was not the Garde who spoke to him with same sweet words like before.

"Can we even do that?" Bertrand flinches in surprise when it's not one of the Human Garde but Nine to speak up again. His eyes are on John, waiting, bracing, for the harsh response that would follow.

"How else would you explain anything that's happening right now?"

"Like we describe everything else, dumb fuckin' luck."

Bertrand looked down at his feet, willing himself to be brave and just let it all out. He quickly glanced over at Nine to find him standing and heavy set, facing John now.

"You got all of our dumb luck early on, Nine. I had to fight to survive," the blonde boy started coolly, almost like he expected those words to send the other Garde back once more.

"That's not fair and you know it," Nine spat back.

Bertrand swiftly reaches and squeezes the first hand he comes in contact with. It squeezes back softly, but he doesn't bother to look to see whose it was.

For support.

Before he finally spoke up.

"Enough of the fighting, please! Just tell us what is next now that we are here," Bertrand's words started strong and loud but ended on a faint, pathetic mumbling of words he wasn't sure even super hearing could understand.

But John's cold eyes were still on him instantly. The German boy dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself still.

"You," the Garde said simply, maybe even relaxing a fraction.

"Me," Bertrand gulped. Nine eyed the German boy and sent John a disapproving look that he most certainly ignored.

"Johnny-" The burly Garde started in a warning tone but John stopped acknowledging that there was anyone else in the room with them. Like no one else existed in his space, just he and the human Garde that had something he wanted.

"I should have guessed," John stated, proving he had ignored Nine entirely.

Bertrand looked down at his feet under the sound of John's voice, feeling that erupting feeling build in his chest once more.

"I was there when Number Eight came back to life," Bertrand swallowed. "I do not think it was I who did it but I was there as it had happened. I… I have no explanation. Just… my vision."

John said nothing. The other human Garde behind him shifted and whispered to themselves, the sounds of their voices disbelieving. To play the work of God and control life was something almost unspoken universally by humans and here the Garde of a distant planet had the legacy to do it like it was no problem.

"O-oh," Bertrand mumbled out when he looked up to meet John's eyes. "Well. Like I had said, I do not think it was my power, just my being there that make this happen."

"Resurrection is a legacy," John responded coolly. "It's a fact."

Bertrand swallows and opens his mouth to continue but John cuts him off this time, his eyes narrowing.

"Your experience almost further proves it exists. It proves that there's a lot of Lorien left to unravel for even us who are supposed to have the answers. If you want answers, you'll have to wait. Is there anything else that you can tell me besides stuttering and disappointment?"

The German boy felt a shiver quietly creep down his back. He was already disappointing their only hope, why didn't he share the same gut as Nigel?

"I do not know how it…" he trails off, dropping his gaze down to his feet. He couldn't bare to hold that stare much longer. He couldn't bare to feel the constant waves of anger and resentment that came his way.

"Then tell it," John's voice sounds angrier with every new sentence he utters. Bertrand swallows nervously and he struggles to recall what happened at the temple grounds.

He remembers the taste of smoke and ash in his mouth trying to breath on the battlefield, he remembers the thoughts of the animals as they screamed to pass him when he braved the jungles. He remembers the desperation, the thoughts he assumed were going to be his last as the soldier held him by his throat and readied to kill him.

Then, the alien vanished before his eyes into beams of life.

"I remember the feelings. I remember there was screaming, and that there was… light," Bertrand struggled to put the words together but he managed to speak something. He squeezed his fist, hard enough that he was sure he'd cut the skin if he held it for too long, and looks back up to meet John's vacant eyes.

"The soldier had become a light before me and Eight appeared. I do not remember much else," he trails off, finding the same, dead feeling in John's blue eyes as intimidating as always. He should have kept his eyes low, but holding his head made him look weaker.

"Light," John parroted in a bored tone, complete with a soft laugh. "Energy. It became energy."

Bertrand is convinced he uses his own life energy to force himself to nod instead of stare in some horrified state.

"The small amount that any of you know about Legacies is uncomfortable."

"John-" Nine tries once more to interrupt him but sighs loud in defeat when the blonde doesn't even flinch at him.

Bertrand looks down at his feet and closes his eyes. He wasn't only failing himself anymore, he was now failing every single human that stood behind him in solidarity. Solidarity, against their biggest allies. In his mind, he tried repeating all of their names for strength.

Fleur. Ran. Caleb. Dani. Nigel.

Natan.

He thinks about the color of red and the sound of Fleur's screaming. He thinks about Nigel's black leather jacket sticky with blood as he leaned over and closed the Polish boy's glazed eyes for the final time as they left him behind.

He thought he was going to be sick, shaking his head to clear it. He was failing Natan most of all.

"I do not know what it is you are asking of me, John Smith. I can only give so much," he murmurs, clenching his already balled fists even tighter.

"Haven't you twits ever heard of trauma? He can't give you answers, deal with it," Nigel sneered suddenly. Bertrand felt his stomach tighten at the sound of his voice. He was grateful that Nigel was headstrong, that the Garde and the wars didn't scare him the same way as everyone else. But here, in front of John Smith who'd turned from an international terrorist to their last hope, he wish Nigel would have just stayed quiet.

"We're here because we need you lot to tell us what the fuck we are," the Brit continued, his voice slowly raising. His voice shook when he spat the swear and Bertrand was scared to look behind him to see Nigel's face.

"Please," John replied in a bored tone. "I'm supposed to tell you exactly what you are when not a single one of you have ever cared what we are, just what we can do for you."

"It's not like aliens have been readily available to chat," Nigel retorts in a sour tone. Judging by how close Nigel's voice rang in his year, Bertrand deduced it was his hand that he had squeezed for support. Nigel knew he would need the help, whether supportive or abrasive.

"Until you watch those you love die before your eyes, in your arms, or listen to their final words while you're miles away and helpless, I could care less about your struggle," John answered him in a colder tone.

It clicked.

"You would like me… to revive the girl from the plane."

John didn't react.

Bertrand swallowed nervously.

"I… I can at least try. But I cannot guarantee that I will be at all… successful," he practically whispered the last word he was so afraid of the reaction.

"Look," Fleur's usually cheerful voice suddenly spoke up with an edge. Bertrand willed himself to turn and face her, surprised to see the hostile light in her eyes.

"It is clear to me and my friends that Bertrand's power cannot be replicated without something very important. You called it energy, but what kind of energy is it?"

The rest of the human Garde around her looked at each other and Nigel next to him swore under his breath. Fleur's expression didn't soften.

"If Bertrand is true in his story, and I do indeed believe every word he has spoken, then the only way to revive a life is that you must up one first."

The room grew quiet.

"It adds up," Nine comments, his voice tired and suspecting. Bertrand faces him next, searching his face or body language for any ounce of doubt. The tall Garde kept his arms crossed against his chest but lazily, almost relaxed, while a corner of his mouth lifted in a wary frown.

"I had my own suspicions when the little Bumblebee started telling his little story and mentioned how he vaporized a Mog into a ball of light before Eight appeared. I can guarantee too that it was a Trueborn soldier too versus a Vatborn, they'll have life energy to spare."

John was silent, looking straight forward into Bertrand like his eyes were trying to push through every one of the humans in the room to nothing. He focuses on Bertrand once more, his eyes even more unreadable than they had been earlier.

He turns his back without another word and starts to leave.

"John-" Nine starts, standing up to block him but John walks into him, shoulders the other Garde aside, and keeps walking. Bertrand gauges Nine's expression, the flash of hurt that crossed his face for a brief second, and can't help but to feel guilty.

"Really," Nigel suddenly snaps at John as he leaves. Bertrand takes his eyes from Nine to look at his friend, shaking a little at the anger in Nigel's tone. "You ask us to come, call for a meeting, and then walk out like a bitch because Bertrand can't perform tricks."

John doesn't answer him directly, but stops at the open doorway.

"A mistake. It was a mistake to ask for anyone like you to come help" were his last words to them with his back turned. He left the room without another thought.

The humans and Nine were left to stare in the direction he once stood with a mix of horror and disbelief. No one spoke.

The hero has walked out on them.

They had no answers.

What now?

He'd become very cruel as well as dreary over such a short time, Ella thought sadly. She had watched John leave the room from her hiding spot without another word, his eyes set dead ahead of his path and acting like no one else existed in his space.

Or, at least, like no one else could ever exist there the same way again. He clung to that white lie from his Cepan too much.

Sarah's last breaths.

Mark's screams, desperate to awaken Marina to save Sarah.

Six, shaking and covered in blood, trying to stay strong for everyone else.

Her own voice as she whispered what she already knew aloud to herself.

Ella ignored the broken disbelief on Nine's face as he watched John flee the center; if she was her usual, she'd act on her pathetic crush to rush and comfort him. But in this state, she knew he felt nothing similar towards her.

If she was completely herself again, Ella would still be rocking back and forth, shivering with every vision that came true. She has tried to warn them all what would happen when they came to her, when they came to help her, and that guilt would come back to eat her alive.

It was what would save her from a fate of being Setrakus Ra's cruel experiment, but it would cost them Sarah Hart. And, it did.

For Ella's life, Sarah's had to be traded. She found it funny how that worked out; how Sarah died for her like how a Mogadorian general had been given up so Eight could return.

Ella tucked away her understanding of the human Garde in a far spot of her mind.

In her current state, she still had the overwhelming knowledge of every piece of Lorien that now roamed the planet the same way that the Entity had. She knew that Eight's resurrection hadn't been a chance happening; she knew that a human Garde had a power beyond any of their understanding and unlike John, she hadn't had to force it out.

She knew things, things such as there was much more to the Ximic legacy among them; they were fortunate enough to have such a development to an ancient, now corrupted throne. She knew of the human Garde's powers, each and every one of them no matter how hard they tried to hide them.

She tries hard to commit every detail of every new and old Garde to memory, like that Ran can burst the atomic structure of an object or that Fleur has the brute strength to match and defeat even Nine in combat. She hides Nigel's sonic abilities and Daniela's ever evolving stone vision along with Caleb's ability to produce clones.

Ella hid Bertrand's incredibly rare legacy in the back of her mind as far as it could go. It was better that way, she tried to convince herself. Revival was unheard of, often compared to the human philosophy of playing God. A Loric with the power to bring back the dead was a Loric with the strongest hold over their Lorien essence. The feeling of defeat, that he has the power to save lives but can't save every person, would become his downfall if he chose to dwell on it.

If she and the others chose to dwell on it the way John soon would, she realized with a sinking feeling. Ella shook her head to clear it; a topic to handle for a later hour while she had all of this information to study.

Bertrand was a human boy from a small farm town in Western Germany; he didn't want this responsibility. He didn't want to fight and hurt others unless it was absolutely necessary. He wanted to use his powers to help but not to kill other people

Ella quietly hoped someone would teach the German boy that Mogadorian born of ash and single purpose aren't necessarily people. But, those thoughts sound too much like her grandfather; she tells herself over that the ancient Loric mind would agree with her, or at least according to the Entity.

She realized that the delicate blue glow from her eyes she still saw occasionally in her reflection was a side effect of death, it didn't mean she had to like it. Her eyes were a pretty hazel, a mix of dark blue and grey, with the iris of the eye circled with a slight yellow ring. She liked her eyes enough but she hated the looks that the rest of the Garde give her right now.

Don't focus on it. The voice that snapped in her thoughts was a mix of hers and another's.

Almost forty eight hours ago, Ella threw herself into the ruins of the temple in Mexico, into the field of energy, to rid the world of Setrakus Ra for good. To die and take down the biggest enemy of their history in the process. Instead of a vague afterlife, she found herself in the mental space of the embodiment of Lorien instead.

The Entity's mind had been surprisingly mortal.

Using John's spirit and her mental control, they were able to speak directly to the human Garde army and urged for them to join the fight. The downfall of the entity's vision, of its call, was it pulled anything vaguely Lorien into the spiritual library, thus including Setrakus Ra. Though he has long since lost his handsome, Loric form and any of their species' capacity to love, the primary emotion that powered the legacies and knowledge of the Loric, he was still by birth part of Lorien. Ella used all of her newfound strength to hold him down, to seal his body and prevent him from eyeing up the human children and learning his next body count. It worked for the most part, but not good enough, as he left the vision with the victory that there existed humans with Garde abilities and thus something to execute.

Something to toy with like a sick child.

Six swears she killed him during her storm but Ella knew better. Though her immediate connection to Ra was broken, she could still feel his presence in the Entity's fleeting powers.

That was how it introduced itself at first. In its fleeting moments from the spiritual library, after Ra's freedom from her hold, it revealed itself to her.

It was a he. A he whose name she only heard before in myths from Crayton and in scuffles amongst Nine and John back in Chicago. The Entity was not as a being that existed of its own accord, but as a puppet for another person. It was the remains of another person who gave up everything for his planet.

The Entity was the spirit of Pittacus Lore.

With all of his remaining strength, the former and mysterious ruling elder of their home planet spoke to Ella from the place he sealed his soul and every ounce of his power into the essence of Lorien sealed into the planet. Pittacus, who somehow staged his death on Earth and gave away his mortality for the greater good of the Loric, spoke to her through the spirit of Lorien sealed within the Earth. Pittacus gave her the answers she needed.

Ella learned a lot from his voice alone, before he told her any of his story. Of his fears, of his mistakes.

Of Lorien's cruel history even lost on all of their Cepans. There had been a time where Earth as they knew it had belonged to Lorien the same way humans in ancient times used to conquer land for power. The old Lorics were cruel and when they realized how far their torment dug into the shaping of the planet, they attempted to rewrite Earth's history. They erased their crimes and their very existence from the memories of humanity in an effort to change but some remembered. The superhuman masterminds and proteges of history knew their parents; writers and artists alike had their inspirations. The elder council before Pittacus and Setrakus, one led before the time of even Loridas, created a final plan to seal the pride and power of Lorien into a worthy property, since the power that Garde held was too valuable to lose in war with intergalactic enemies.

Setrakus Ra came to know of the power the same way Pittacus had and wanted to release it for his own gain. He wanted to force Lorien's essence onto Mogadore and Cepan alike. Ella could realize that, in theory, he enacted what he thought was good but she knew her grandfather well enough to know that what he was doing was parading his good intentions to hide his true form. Setrakus Ra wanted to abuse Lorien's power, Lorien's heart, for his own experimental gain and fulfillment. He was immortal because of his work; he was feeble without the sludge he created and consumed from dying Loralite stones and because of that he was desperate for more.

Pittacus Lore knew he could not right the wrongs of everything Lorien had did to Earth, including placing its fate in the hands of ten inexperienced children and ten adults with a mere idea of what laid ahead. But he knew he had to try to set things onto the right path. Pittacus Lore had a vision for the sealed energy inside of Earth and instead of using it to revive Lorien, he in the form of the Entity chose to release it onto Earth instead.

There was a rumor that Pittacus was always the rebel that Lorien hadn't known they harvested.

He gave Earth a chance to finally fight for itself, both against Mogadore and Setrakus Ra's evil but also from the unwritten tyranny it long suffered under Lorien's rules.

Using the remains of his living, and the sheer that came from power of Eight's body, Pittacus Lore was able to release the goodness of the Entity, the pure powers of Lorien, onto the humans.

The Garde would lead the cause, but the humans could defend their planet the way it was meant to be. Finally Earth had a chance to help itself and didn't have to rely on the Loric.

Ella remembered Pittacus Lore dismayingly talking about sentencing the children of his people to this fate. That he was the reason she was here now, that she threw her life away to save them all without merrier thought. Lore feared the heroic complex his inability to kill Ra has now caused; that blood would be spilt for nothing and it was too late to save them. He chose to trust in the ten children than save the multitude of his people, he wanted to have faith he hadn't both doomed his legacy and his children to die.

While it's noble of you all to want to fight this, it will be my greatest regret to make the children of my best friends and allies fight my battle for me.

But, without Lore's choice, Ella would not exist. He spoke to her, of her, like a cherished daughter, and she realized just how deep bonds between those who are like family could run. The Garde were her true family; they were everything she could ever want.

Pittacus Lore saw every one of the remaining Garde like one of his own and loved them all for their strengths and flaws alike.

In his last breaths, however, Pittacus Lore spent it talking of John with pride like that of a son; he confided in Ella that his biggest fear was he doomed his lineage most of all.

It never dawned on Ella until that moment how alike Pittacus Lore and Number Four looked, from their shared blonde hair to their sorrowful blue eyes. Even the way Pittacus Lore rolled his eyes and smirked when he said something improper was like that of John.

Lore was broken that he would never have the chance to speak to John face to face himself, that he would never be able to tell John how proud he was for pushing forward no matter the cost. That he was and would forever be sorry for forcing this life of war onto him, onto all of them.

My inheritance is no longer an inheritance worth having and I wish he will come to realize that.

Though Pittacus Lore wielded Ximic, and with it controlled up to seventy-four legacies, he never intended for his descendant to acquire any of his powers. He didn't want John to feel forced into becoming him; he didn't want the Garde to feel pressured to choose a leader but to want to work together as the ultimate solution.

That was why the number system first existed, wasn't it? They were to take the roles of the elders but it never stated that one elder had to rule them all.

So, with the last of his energy in his mortal form before becoming one with the Entity, Pittacus Lore split his precious Legacy into two halves. It wasn't that the legacy count was split into two separate portions, but the power of that legacy was divided among two worthy successors. There would be no one Pittacus Lore, and at the worst this way there were two Garde to balance out one another. With Ximic, the greatest grand legacy a Garde could ever forge, the war could be won. With his lineage being the last known line to hold such a power, Lore couldn't entrust it all to one boy who wasn't supposed to be part of any of this in the beginning. His vision was at stake.

My cutting of the legacy will nerf it's power significantly, Pittacus Lore warned her. His form at this point had started fading, but in his last moments he felt this was important enough.

Ximic was a mistake created by the first generation of Loric, by the early days of the planet Lorien, that believed absolute power could save them all. They were wrong. Ximic alone is too great a power to give to one man, to set aside for one family. In its new form, Ximic will allow a user to copy any legacy but without rapid succession. The rarest and strongest legacies cannot be duplicated multiple times in one single lifetime.

Pause.

A user who abuses their power risks losing it all together. Among worse side effects.

Ella only wish she knew who else had been gifted with the second version of Ximic. The only clear answer she got was that it did not belong to a Garde. Or, at least at this time while they rebuilt themselves and prepared for the worst yet to come, a Garde could not inherit it if Lore's vision was to split the power between Earth and Lorien.

She had a warning and she already had suspicions that John would refuse to listen to her, no matter who she said gave her this information.

For all of Lorien, Ella, I thank you.

She felt herself begin to tear.

Thank you. For not killing me. She thought desperately now, as she ran out of time then to say the right words that would summarizes her come back as well as her family history.

She could have sworn that the tingling in the back of her head even responded.

Disarm the officers that tried to quarantine Adam with Five? Check.

Set Marina somewhere safe, check her vitals, and leave her under Eight's careful eye? Check.

Find Sam? Working on it now. She saw him huddle up somewhere after John "greeted" them upon arrival. That was hours ago. Hours ago since he went into Lexa's ship without so much as another look in anyone's direction except Eight's.

These were the elements of what she was confident on. The elements she hoped would stay solidified.

Handling John's sudden cruelty? In planning. Out of everyone who was awake, the only one he hasn't blatantly snarled at yet was Adam. Probably because Adam would snap right back.

The Human Garde? Brainstorming. Her brain was as clear as a hurricane as she went down this metaphorical list.

The war? Help. Send as much help as you can.

Six went through the mental lists in her head over and over because it was the only thing that calmed her nerves. The things she had already accomplished, the things she knew she was good at, everything that would set aside the stirring anxiety of what remained to be handled in the war. Even after she tries to focus her mind on her next reunion with Sam, her thought process slips up and thinks of the look on John's face when Number Eight, alive and well with a smile across his face, met with him and Nine alongside of Adam, Six, Ella, Mark, Lexa, and an unconscious Marina.

The disbelieving, almost joyful wide blue eyes, the start of the smile that almost broke a small hole into the wall he'd built up around himself before his lips sealed themselves once again.

The confrontation that came immediately afterwards when he didn't get the answers he wanted.

They warned him not to confront the human Garde so soon.

Nine had followed after him to make sure he didn't break one of their allies in this fight.

The visions of her nightmare came back to her.

Sarah.

Sam.

She had to find him and now.

She found Sam as she made her way down the main hall of the hospital wing and immediately gripped the fabric of his shirt and pulled him into her. She buried her face against his chest, breathing in the smell of him. The electrical charge of him.

"Six? What's…" he trailed off, wrapping his arms around her. Like he understood that she would never be this affectionate somewhere so open if she wasn't threatening to break apart. They maintained their silence for a while, dissolving into nothing but one another's presence.

He was alive. He was safe.

But she still couldn't save Sarah.

"Hey now, careful, these hallways are a sacred off limits zone. No frenching allowed," Eight's warm, teasing voice piped up after a moment. Six pulled back from Sam, feeling her face heat up, but kept her hands tightly knit on the sides of his clothing. She needed him close, company or not.

"If you want to see frenching, you'll have to catch Nine the next time he walks past a mirror," Sam replies with a cheeky grin.

Eight barked out a laugh from his place against a doorframe. The rest of the patient rooms were surprisingly vacant, the only source of noise coming from the main corridors down the hallway.

Like this place was waiting for chaos.

Six turned to Eight with a silent question.

"This is where Adam and I brought her," he answered immediately. Six missed having more friends who could read her moods with a mere glance at her. Adam was getting to that point and Marina didn't even have to look to know if she was angry or upset.

The John she once cared about was gone.

Nine was no good friend of hers.

"Is she any different," Six asks, finally releasing her hold on Sam's clothing.

"She stirs a little more now, but not awake yet, I'm getting anxious," Eight shrugs, looking behind his shoulder into the room as though he hoped his words would insight something in Marina to wake up.

"Couldn't John just heal her," Sam's turn to ask something but he quickly frowns as soon as it leaves his mouth.

They all knew that answer already.

"When he comes to his senses and realizes he needs us as much as his grandma's shit, then we shall see. For now, we rely on careful medical science," Eight uncrossed his arms and turns to walk inside Marina's room.

"My favorite kind of science after aliens," Sam halfheartedly jokes. He reaches a hand down and intertwines his fingers with Six's. She couldn't be more grateful for the quiet gesture as they enter the suite.

Marina was laying on her back in the thin cot, her face looking at peace as she rested. One of the few times she felt composed since Florida and the sanctuary visit that wasn't Eight stricken peace. She only stirred once and awhile, occasionally sighing and shivering.

She hadn't smiled once, Six noticed most of all.

It was hard to deny that her friend was beautiful, that she found Marina's smile warm even when she herself became like ice. She watches Eight take a seat besides Marina's unconscious form and run a hand through her hair with a solemn look in his eye.

Six knew that her once big crush was in good hands as Eight was in good hands with her.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead softly.

"Soon, Eight," Sam murmurs next to Six. He squeezes Six's hand once. "Whether John pulls himself together or she comes to her senses on her own and joins us, she'll be back soon."

"It's funny," Eight grins softly, keeping his eyes down on the sleeping Marina. "I thought me coming back would have sparked something in her to wake up as soon as I saw her on the ship. I even tried to kiss her back. She's very… cold. But she has a heartbeat and is in no vital danger."

"When Five killed you, Eight," Six starts, unsure of how to word the parts of that day in the Everglades she could remember. The parts she did know of or were told of. "Marina would have broken the world in half if it meant she could honor everything you ever stood for. She developed a legacy that allowed her to freeze even the Floridian heat where it stood."

Eight looks up and meets Six's eyes, his own green ones a mix of emotions. He holds her stare for a moment, but not long enough for Six to decipher everything he was feeling as the other Garde looks back down at Marina. He slowly raises and softly runs a hand through her hair, running his thumb gently over her cheek.

He smiles, but it's a sad one.

"You two had a very short time together," Six continues with a soft grin of her own, hoping to convey some of her own pride and once harbored crush on Marina into her words, and squeezes Sam's hand. "But she cares deeply about you, death or not. She'll be back soon and when she's up, you two can get some closure."

A loud clash followed by heavy footsteps interrupted Six's thoughts. The three of them looked towards the door, expecting a visitor but only saw a blur as someone briskly walked past the open doorway.

Six glances at Sam, letting go of his hand and walking forward to investigate. She peeks her head out and frowns heavy when her eyes meet John's back as he storms away and disappears down the hall. One conference failed so now he must be onto the next stop in the base, like a machine looking for every potential error and fix. She looks back inside at Sam, aware how disappointed and angry her facial expression must look.

"He's going to ruin our chances for support," she says sourly, walking back into the room with her arms crossed. She didn't care if he came back and overheard, she'd finally be able to put him in his place.

"The new kids are confused and he doesn't like it. He doesn't have to time for them to get it. My telekinesis kicked in when I had to move to save John's life, I had no idea what it meant. I still have no ideas what any of this means," Sam looks down at his feet and sighs. "The worst part is that none of us can even get a word in to him. These kids are humans, they were going about their every day until it all changed. Not everyone can be raised to handle the complete unexpected, even you guys aren't perfect."

"He is grieving," Eight points out. His eyes are back on Marina, his hand now holding hers and stroking the knuckles with a thumb.

"Marina changed an entire climate because she thought she lost me forever. But now, here I am, alive and well, save a few physical scars from whatever Five did to my heart. He doesn't want to accept it."

"Eight-" Six starts but he looks over his shoulder at her with a smile.

"I don't mean like that. Somewhere inside of that thick skull, he's glad that death can be reversed and I have my second chance. There's just a larger part of him that doesn't understand why he can't make it work for her."

Six realized in that moment that Sarah's name hadn't been breathed since her body was taken by Mark back to Paradise. Even she found her mouth drying out and her heart clenching at the thought of her. At the thought that Sarah gave up her human life to do something with bravery that rivaled any of the Garde.

"Both of them are examples of where we should move on to, truthfully," Eight started again suddenly. Six glances at Sam as he opens his mouth to ask but Eight continues. "Marina and Five I mean, not John."

Eight smiles a little, even laughs quietly to himself.

"If you think about it, Number Four has always been the outlier in our mission, even in everything we know about our people."

Eight reaches to the hem of the blanket and pull it up, almost tucking it under Marina like he was trying to find a way to bring some of the heat she'd tossed aside back to her.

"Five was trained in everything he ever thought he'd have to handle, including killing his own kind. In a sick way, he succeeded in that big final task, but it wasn't the one he was conditioned to hate. Something caught him off guard and he broke. Now he's here because he flipped to help fight in New York."

Eight pauses, then looks up at the ceiling in thought, then back down at Marina. He leans over and softly kisses her forehead before standing up and facing Six entirely.

"We can train all we'd like, we can prepare and practice for doomsday as much as we want to, but the minute something that shouldn't happen does, we're left astray. Marina didn't know going to find Five's chest meant losing me the same way John didn't realize sending Sarah to meet you guys meant losing her. John has been optimistic since the beginning and I think we can all agree in how much we admire that, but he hasn't been realistic."

Six meets Sam's eyes before she nods along. These were things she knew already, knew from when she first met John back in Paradise. The image of the shaking, emotional boy who held his dying Cepan came back to her and she had to look down at her feet.

Eight spoke up again.

"Until he realizes that each and every life here is subject to be lost, and that every single person in this fight is ok with that, he'll never get better."


End file.
